


Reclaiming Sunday

by ThatwasJustaDream



Series: Everything You Want [8]
Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kisses, M/M, frottage and oral, lazy sunday sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: A little ficlet in a Marvey D/s 'verse- about two months after Mike has moved in. Mild, vanilla sexy times and Mike reclaiming his Sundays with some help from Harvey.





	Reclaiming Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a week or two late posting these - three ficlets written to the prompt of ‘chocolate coated kisses,’ and inspired loosely by a certain holiday and iconic bunny.

Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up so deeply rested; eight solid hours of sleep, the entire day off ahead of them.

It took a few seconds to find his way up to sitting; took even longer to pick up the scents wafting his way from out the door and around the corner - egg and vanilla, banana and chocolate, syrup and freshly ground coffee. 

“Well damn….. pancakes,” his feet were on the floor, the room brightening as he hit the switch for the shade and it spooled up. “Whadda ya know….”

He was still sleep-drunk enough that pulling on his sleep pants took a couple of tries; Two awkward stabs with one foot and then one with the other before he was headed toward the door and into the hallway. 

Mike stopped in his tracks short of the kitchen, taking a moment to watch the reason these last few months had been so much better for him than, perhaps, any before them: His live-in-love conducting Glenn Miller’s orchestra as it spun on the turntable, the other hand busy flipping a pancake onto a stack and pouring more batter onto the stove-top griddle. 

“There you are,” Harvey said when he saw him, turning to carry a small plate of bacon to the table. “I knew food would do it. How did my blurry ray of sunshine sleep?”

“Not blurry. I’m …. I don’t know….still surfacing I guess,” Mike shuffled his way, arms crossing in front of his bare chest as a giant yawn demanded out. “Damn…. I was out.”

He extended a cheek but Harvey reached around; kissed him on the mouth once, twice, the second one deeper, Harvey getting arms around Mike’s hips and pulling him closer. Mike relaxed into his hold, arms still folded, Harvey drawing a pleased murmur out of him as he kissed his way along Mike’s jaw to his neck, adding a nip and then a second one before heading back to the stove. 

“I already ate,” Harvey gestured over at the table, fussing with something on a plate next to the stove. “Yours…is almost ready. Have a seat and prepare to be served.”

“As long as it’s not a summons…” Mike dropped into a chair, grabbing the carafe of hot coffee in the middle of the table and filling up the cup waiting for him.

“Nope. Something much sweeter,” Harvey was headed his way with a pleased little grin. “But it does come with a quid pro quo.”

“And what’s that?”

“You have to kiss the cook after breakfast. In a variety places to be named later.”

Mike gave him a long, deep ‘mmmmm’ sound of anticipation that was all double entendre - a sound that was interrupted when Harvey dropped the plate in front of him, and Mike couldn’t _not_ break out laughing.

“Too much?” Harvey was still smiling, but with a little wrinkle of uncertainty above his nose.

“It’s… fantastic. No one has ever made me a stack of Easter Bunny shaped pancakes.”

Mike admired the artistry before dousing it all in maple goodness: The ears carved from banana, the bacon whiskers and whipped cream puffy tail, eyes and nose large drops of melting chocolate chips.

“I’m not sure if you mark the holiday, but… I figured if nothing else it’s a celebration of spring. We can all use a little spring right about now.”

“Amen to that.”

Mike dug in, giving Harvey a ‘where are you going look’ when Harvey didn’t sit down with him, but poured his own coffee and headed out of the room. 

“I’m going to shave while you eat. Meet you in the shower, after?” Harvey grinned at the sound that got him; a whine of objection muffled by a large forkful of pancake and whipped cream. “Relax… and enjoy, okay? Breakfast won’t stay hot for you. I will.”

-*-

“That… was the corniest line…” Mike was still coming down from it; heart thumping, face half on the bed, half tucked in by Harvey’s ribs, an arm slung over him. “….so…so cheesy.”

“Your fault…” Harvey was still catching his breath, too; flat out on his back, forearm over his closed eyes, legs shifting around randomly. “You make me do idiotic things.”

They hadn’t made it to the shower: Mike had walked into the bathroom to find him fixing up the sink post-shave and decided he wanted more than ceramic surfaces could offer them. 

Harvey wasn’t one to argue with his wants when they weren’t in a scene; happily let himself be pulled by one wrist for an easy twist on the bed that slowly turned more heated; Mike delivering the requested kisses on his way south, blindly pulling a pillow along with him to fuck while he sucked him. 

He’d prolonged it as long as possible; only gave in to the urge to come all over his hand when Harvey was a shaking mess for him- _groaning_ , the hand in Mike’s hair tight and shaking, the other a fist, twisting the sheet into a ball.

It was somehow way more intense than expected for unstructured, lazy Sunday morning sex; Mike could tell it was for him, too, by the way Harvey was urging him up closer, now, pulling the sheet over them both and stretching out, settling in. 

“Rest for a while?” Harvey asked, and Mike nodded against his shoulder. 

“I used to hate Sundays,” he told him, shrugging at the tangible huff of disbelief from Harvey. “I got the Sunday blues a lot. Plus… nothing to do, no one to do it with. So… I’m loving this; you spoiling me. I don’t want you to ever hesitate ‘cause you think it’s… I don’t know…”

“Too much?”

“Right. It’s not. I mean, I look forward to all the phases; even us learning to take each other a little more for granted, someday. But however long this part lasts….”

“Who says it has to be a phase?” Harvey asked him, voice heavy with endorphins and lassitude; and even though it was in the form of a question it felt like the best answer Mike had ever gotten from him. 

Twenty minutes turned into two hours; into them never leaving the apartment except for an hour on the patio and dinner ordered in. 

By the end of the day, Mike was pretty sure Sunday had a shot at becoming his favorite day of the week.


End file.
